


A Place to Call Home

by DanielBatskulls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-21 19:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12464340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanielBatskulls/pseuds/DanielBatskulls
Summary: After the war, Harry can't seem to find a normal life to come back to. He decides to contact the only people he can think of who also have no normal home to return to - the Malfoys. This is a Drarry fic, meaning DracoxHarry.





	1. Isolation

Chapter One: Isolation

The war was over – that much everyone knew. Every witch and wizard around the world had continuously celebrated that fact nearly nonstop ever since the mention of the highly anticipated death of the Dark Lord. The end of his final reign had rendered the streets abandoned for fear of being snatched, but ever since that day a bright light of life had poured out of every home around to come together in the open. Once again, a cry for Harry Potter could be heard followed by the sound of goblets clinking together and liquid sloshing to the floor. Especially in London, where the presence of dark magic seemed to have been at its high, laughter rang higher and the music almost never stopped. 

 

But the music stopped for Harry Potter. He had expected to go back to life as usual after the war and maybe start a family and be an auror. However, life for Harry Potter had never been normal. He went with the Weasley’s back to the Burrow after the war had ended and after they had helped clean up Hogwarts. Things with Ginny didn’t go back to “normal” either. All the passion he had felt for her had turned dull, and at first he just figured he was still in disbelief from the end of it all and his feelings would come back. On his final night at the Burrow he had shared her bed with her and exchanged a few kisses, but he then pushed her from him and sighed. No words were spoken between them, because somehow she just knew it was over. 

 

There was nothing normal for Harry to go back to, and so nothing felt quite right. The only thing outside of Hogwarts he had ever had were the Dursley’s, and he most definitely never planned to live with them again. He decided to move into 12 Grimmauld Place on his own, regardless of whatever protests Hermione or any of the Weasley’s gave him. Ron and Hermione had plans to move into their own home soon and they had lovingly offered a room for Harry but he denied it. Hermione gave him a sad look and hugged him tightly before he apparated out of the Burrow. 

 

The home was as old, dusty, and dark as he remembered it. Harry slowly walked the halls and each room of the place and lightly touched each surface, and he imagined once again what Sirius’s life had been like in such a place. A tightness formed in his chest at the thought of his dead Godfather. He was supposed to be living with Sirius and enjoying a normal life for once; not even this place felt normal. There was no Order surrounding the table discussing Voldemort’s next move, nor the Weasley twins trying their best to eavesdrop. There would be no warm Christmas dinner with laughter and sweets, and there would be no hope for Harry to finally have his own family instead of always burdening his friends. Not even Kreacher seemed to be wandering the halls – perhaps the poor house elf had finally passed on to be with his  
Masters. 

Harry sat on the couch in the living room and set what little items he own on the floor. The air around him was deafeningly quiet and stuffy. He had been prone to self-isolation during much of his time at Hogwarts during the rise of Voldemort, but this was a different sort of isolation. His friends had something to go home to. Even Hermione, who had obliterated the minds of her parents, had a new and loving relationship with Ron, and they were moving on to new stages in their lives. Both of them had known a normal life before Voldemort – but not Harry. Harry had known the cupboard under the stairs. He had known hunger, teasing, loneliness, bitterness, and emptiness. He had known loss, regret, pain, suffering, and longing. Even in between all of the painful moments of his life where had known love, friendship, and laughter, it had always been followed by something else. 

 

He couldn’t go back to Hogwarts. Even if he had wanted to teach there, the memories of the war and old friends and professors would always haunt the corridors for him. As Harry remembered his days at Hogwarts, an odd thought occurred to him – one which caused him to finally feel an emotional response in a while. He wondered where the Malfoy’s had gone. After the war, the three of them had escaped as quickly as possible, and the ministry had even given up its search for Lucius for his involvement with Voldemort. The Malfoy’s had no normal life to go to either. Though on the other side, Harry had seen their walls break down near the end, and their true nature surfaced. And for whatever reason, he felt even emptier knowing that no one knew of their whereabouts. 

 

Harry had no proper thought process as he acted. In fact, he never even bothered to stop and question himself why he was even doing such a thing. He found an old scrap of parchment and scribbled the first words that came to mind on it, and then took it over to the owl Hermione had given him in case he wanted to contact her or Ron. It watched him curiously as he tied the rolled up scrap to its leg. “I need you to find the Malfoy’s, do you understand?” The owl hooted softly “Find Draco Malfoy. Find him and his family. And please come back.” Harry took her over to the window and watched as she confidently stretched her wings and then took flight.


	2. Confrontation

He figured it was a useless attempt. Even as he had watched the owl fly away with his letter he felt uncertain the Malfoys would reply at all, let alone even read it – but there was always a sliver of hope. It had been a few days since then which gave Harry plenty of time to rethink the words he had written and wonder if it was even the right thing to do. “I reckon you’re the only ones who understand how I’m feeling right now. This emptiness is eating away at me.” It definitely sounded desperate, but it was the raw truth of his reality. He hadn’t even beckoned a response, so there was really no reason to expect one. 

 

His birthday was fast approaching and no plans had been made. He wondered for a moment if he should head back to the Burrow for it, but guilt consumed him. The loss of Fred weighed on his shoulders regardless of whose fault it had really been, and this never-ending void surrounding him was sure to make the atmosphere sullen. Perhaps he would let his birthday come and go this year as it had done as a child – that was a normal thought. 

 

As he sat at the window lost in thought he noticed his owl nearing 12 Grimmauld Place. He inhaled sharply in surprise at the scroll which was neatly tied to the owl’s leg. Careful to not startle her, he opened the window and gently untied the scroll. There were very little words on the parchment. 

 

“Potter, 

 

I know. 

 

Come to the Manor at your convenience.” 

 

Harry stared at the words in disbelief until a wave of nerves washed over him. He knew whose writing it was – it was Draco Malfoy. Not only had he been politely invited to meet with him, but he had been invited to return to the place of horrors. The memories at Hogwarts had at least been clouded by a good portion of fond memories as well. His only time at Malfoy Manor had been fairly recent. Hermione had been tortured and Dobby had died. Could he really return so easily to such a place? Harry was at a loss. “I know.” He read those words over and over again. I know. Did Draco know the hollow pain of a life yearning to remember what it was like before the darkness? 

 

Aside from all of that, Harry didn’t even know if he should announce his arrival beforehand by owl or by simply knocking on the door. He considered requesting for them to meet elsewhere for a moment, but the thought felt foolish. Any public setting was simply out of the question, and having the Malfoys inside 12 Grimmauld Place was too uncomfortable a thought. 

 

Harry made up his mind. He remembered all too well the appearance and whereabouts of the Malfoy Manor. After a few steady breaths he stood up and apparated on the spot.

 

It was odd to see the Manor in daylight. Though the greenery surrounding the lot was lively and glowing in the evening sun, the Manor remained intimidating and dark simply by being what it was. Harry couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live there, regardless of its magnificent size, especially with the memories of what had occurred there. He had apparated by the front gates, and so he began the somewhat long walk toward the front door. With every step his breath seemed to turn more and more into gasps as he wondered whether or not he should just turn back and pretend he had never come. Two words kept his feet determined: I know. 

 

When he arrived at the front door he hesitated before finally knocking on the door. The sound echoed within the front room, and for a moment Harry wondered if they were even home until he heard the faint sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Draco Malfoy was surprisingly more casually dressed than Harry had ever seen him, though that wasn’t saying much considering he was still in a button up shirt and slacks. Something else was missing from him as well – his scowl. Over the past year whenever Harry had encountered him, Draco had been more fearful and nervous than anything else and it did not seem he had been able to shake those expressions since then. With a careful hand Draco opened the door for Harry. 

 

“Potter.” 

 

“Malfoy.” 

 

“You received my letter, I see.” 

 

“I did.” 

 

The two of them stood awkwardly in the doorway and avoided the other’s gaze. Harry had never seen Draco so unsure of himself. He could tell he was as equally unsure about this situation as he was. 

 

“Come on in then.” With that said, Draco simply turned around and headed into another room. Harry nearly tripped over his feet as he stepped inside and made sure to shut the door behind him. He scanned his surroundings and took note of the tidy emptiness within – it was just as he had remembered. It definitely didn’t feel like a home. They continued into what appeared to be a living room furnished with plain black sofas, a coffee table, and a fire place that didn’t seem to have been used in quite some time. Draco gestured at one of the sofas for Harry to sit, and he did. Draco stood awkwardly, the pained expression on his face overcome by discomfort. “Tea?” he offered quietly. 

 

“Uh, please.” Harry twiddled his thumbs and looked around him as Draco stiffly left the room. It was incredibly quiet, as if the room were stuck in time. Harry noticed the dust beginning to cake on a few surfaces and cobwebs forming in the corner. It was then that he wondered where Draco’s parents were. The Manor was far too quiet and untouched. 

 

After a moment, Draco returned with a tray holding a kettle and two cups and he set it on the table slowly before taking a seat across from the table to face Harry. They avoided eye contact as Harry reached for a cup and simply held it in his hands. Neither of them said anything for about a minute. 

 

“You look… well,” Harry tried. 

 

Draco nearly snorted. “Don’t lie, Potter.” 

 

“Right.” He sipped at the tea. Draco Malfoy made this tea, he thought. Has he ever made anything for himself before? Harry glanced up from the cup to finally catch Draco’s eye and found that he couldn’t – Draco was staring at the wall. How were they to start a conversation when neither of them were truly willing? “Are you… here alone?” 

 

Draco almost winced. He dropped his eyes to the empty fireplace and his face grew soft. “Yes.” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

 

“Your parents-“ 

 

“Azkaban.” 

 

Harry was surprised that this was news to him. Of course it was expected – all remaining Death Eaters were taken in as soon as the war was over. Though the Malfoy’s did play a large part in the war, Harry knew it wasn’t all willingly. “Have they given names?” 

 

“There aren’t any more names.” Draco sighed heavily. “They’ve all been taken in.” 

 

“Then why stay here?” 

 

Draco’s eyes shot up and met Harry’s, although his expression wasn’t entirely readable. “And go where?” 

 

Harry wondered for a moment. Although he did have places to go – the Weasley’s, for example – he chose not to. Instead, he had resided in his dead God father’s home. For what purpose? he thought. To feel normal and chase ghosts? “I’m living in Sirius’s home,” he confessed. 

 

“Alone?”

 

Harry nodded, looking down into his cup. “We really are in the same place.” He hadn’t expected it, not really. He imagined at least Draco’s mother escaping confinement at Azkaban, and the two of them moving away, perhaps to go North. Draco seemed to always have things go his way – though Harry learned that just wasn’t the case. 

 

“I… can’t leave.” Draco’s eyes fell to the floor, once again avoiding Harry. “It’s all I know.” 

 

Harry drew in a long, slow breath, and he watched Draco’s face. He had always wanted to punch that face. He definitely deserved it. But that time came to a close when Draco chose to not give up Harry to Bellatrix. “You know me,” he said. 

 

Draco’s lips parted quickly in quiet surprise, and he looked up at Harry. Harry took note of the pain in his face which was all too familiar. “And,” Harry continued, “I know you.” He paused, anticipating some sort of response from Draco, but after receiving none he continued. “Neither of us asked for this. But we had to. And now we don’t know what to do.”

 

Draco swallowed and continued to hold Harry’s gaze. Don’t take down your walls, he thought to himself. Don’t. “We hate each other,” he said stiffly. 

 

“Not really. But we had to.” 

 

“I did horrible things to you.” 

 

“You did. And then you didn’t.” 

 

“For years.” Draco continued. “To your friends, as well.” 

 

“I don’t hate you.” 

 

His eyes began to glisten, as if he might break any second. He turned away quickly and cleared his throat. “Always better than the rest of us, Potter.” 

 

“Always,” Harry smirked. And then he felt a knot in his gut at the word. 

 

“Why are you staying at Black’s? Why not with Weasley or Granger?” 

 

“They don’t get it. Not entirely.” They all had each other. Harry had memories. 

 

“So you came here, because I do.” 

 

“And you invited me.” 

 

Draco shook his head. “You’re insane, Potter. You know what happened here and you came anyway.” 

 

Harry’s jaw tightened. He knew what he was getting himself into when coming back here. He hoped to avoid certain parts of the Manor altogether to simply avoid the vivid memory. “You know what happened here and yet you still live here.” 

 

“I told you, Potter, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. And don’t act like you care.” 

 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

 

Draco eyed him hesitantly, visibly struggling with words. “No,” he breathed at last. 

 

“Do you still hate me?” 

 

“I never did. Not truly.” 

 

“You were always such a git.” 

 

Draco scowled. “And you were always the self-righteous Chosen One.”

 

Harry gave a half smile. “That’s the Draco Malfoy I know.” 

 

Draco huffed and turned back toward the wall, but Harry was sure he could see a faint smile on those lips. 

 

“What are we going to do, I wonder,” Harry said mostly to himself, looking at the now cold tea on the table. 

 

“We?” 

 

“We can’t keep living like this. I can’t. It’s driving me crazy.” 

 

“You were already there, Potter.” 

 

“We need to get away.” Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, but he continued. “We’re sitting in our past because that’s all we know, and we’re the only ones who can’t seem to move forward.”

 

“And what is it exactly you mean for us to do about that? Runaway like some kind of fairy tale?” 

 

“Not exactly.” Harry breathed deeply for a moment to steady himself. “I need to see the basement.” 

 

Draco’s jaw dropped and he didn’t bother recollecting himself. “You’re mad. It’s official. No way.” 

 

“How are we supposed to keep living when it feels like we are still in a war? A war we’ve been in our entire lives?” 

 

“That doesn’t mean we have to damages ourselves any further.”

 

“I buried Dobby, Malfoy. I know he’s gone.”

 

“Granger isn’t gone. You know what Bellatrix did to her that day.” 

 

“Hermione is fine,” Harry said, though he never really asked her about it. She never seemed like she even wanted to talk about it. “I just… I have no closure.” 

 

“You said you buried him.” 

 

“Closure for everything. I’m not asking that you do the same. But I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for something to happen when it won’t.”

 

“You really want to be broken, don’t you? You sought out danger at every corner before, and now that it’s not there you’ll make your own.” Draco scoffed. “How is that better than sitting around?” 

 

Harry stood. “I’ll show myself to the basement. You can keep sitting around. I’ve had enough.” 

 

“Wait – “ Draco stood as well. “No, I’ll… I’ll show you.” 

 

Harry followed him to the front parlor and to a set of double doors. Harry didn’t remember them, but he was certain Draco had closed them for good reason. The room beyond held too many dark memories – many more for Draco than for himself. He watched as Draco paused in front of the doors, his breath more quick and shallow. It occurred to him that perhaps Draco hadn’t been in that room since the end of the war. 

 

“Death,” said Draco shakily. “Death is beyond these doors.” 

 

“It’s just you and me here,” said Harry, unsure if he was trying to comfort Draco or simply push him along. 

 

Draco nodded and pushed open the doors. Inside was almost exactly as Harry had remembered it, minus a chandelier. The walls were just as dark as the rest of the Manor, and the floor even darker still. It was far too big a room to be as empty as it was. He wondered how many meetings were held in here with Voldemort at the head of a large dining table. He wondered how many of them Draco had been present for. He had stepped cautiously into the room and noticed Draco remained behind him, standing in the doorway. 

 

“It still feels like him,” he whispered. “I can still see the blood.” Harry guessed that’s why the floor was so much darker than the walls. The air felt stale and sent a cold chill down his spine. His eyes rested on a door in the far corner, and he knew it lead down to the basement – or, in other words, to the dungeon. 

 

“You don’t have to stay here,” Harry voiced to Draco. He moved throughout the room, his mind filling with memories from that day. He knew Hermione had been tortured here, but he was thankful he wasn’t sure exactly what part of the room. He knew where Dobby had disapparated with them, though. He clenched his jaw and felt sadness wash over him. He turned and headed toward the door to the basement. 

 

“Wait.” 

 

Draco’s voice was so quiet, Harry wasn’t sure he had actually heard him. He was still standing in the doorway, his legs quivering slightly. “Are you coming then?” Draco stared at the floor and clenched his fists. “It’s just a room, Malfoy,” Harry pushed. “I’m going down.” Harry turned back around and started again toward the door. He heard quiet footsteps following behind him. 

 

The stairway was far too dark. Harry felt it foolish to light the torches along the way, so he took out his wand. Lumos. The stone felt cold, even under his shoes, and the sound of him descending echoed around him. Draco kept close behind him, saying nothing. In the past, Harry would have been prepared for Draco to trap him in one of the cells, but now Draco seemed completely powerless. He hovered close to Harry, never touching him. 

 

Harry wondered down the path, passing each open cell along the way. He paused at the one he himself had been locked in. He remembered the sounds of Hermione’s screams as he sat here, helpless. “Okay,” he said to Draco. “Let’s go back up.” 

 

Draco had locked the double doors behind them once they left the room. They stood in the parlor, their backs to the door, and just breathed. “Well, I best be off then, I suppose.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Draco said, quickly. 

 

“Why don’t you come with me?” 

 

Draco stepped back. “You can’t be serious.” 

 

“I am. Come with me.” 

 

“Remember who you’re speaking to.” 

 

“You’re Draco Malfoy, and I’m not delusional.” 

 

“You are.”

 

“Then I’ll be off.” Harry moved to the front door. 

 

“No, wait.” Draco took a step toward him. His head lowered to the side and he looked at the floor. “This place is full of memories.” 

 

“Memories you can’t walk through alone.”

 

“Don’t make me say it, Potter.” 

 

Harry turned to face Draco head on. He stared at him until Draco finally looked back up to meet his eyes. “You don’t want to be alone.” Draco noticeably clenched his jaw and gave a good show of trying to look annoyed, but failed. “Honestly, I don’t want to be alone either. But not here.” Draco remained silent, so Harry took another step to the front door. 

 

“No, wait – Dammit Potter, just let me grab my things.”


End file.
